


In Some Way, I'm There With You

by TroubleIWant



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (temporary) MCD, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dubious Consent, Happy Sterek-y endings FOR ALL, M/M, Stiles POV, au meets canon, but less than you might think from these tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 17:02:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3985948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TroubleIWant/pseuds/TroubleIWant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott slows to a jog as he sees Derek upright and moving, but Stiles keeps running hard. He slides to his knees on the dirt and moss next to Derek and grabs at his shirt. </p><p>“Der?” he asks, over-loud and panicky. He’s oblivious to the gore around them, even though he’s kneeling in it. His hands flutter over Derek’s shoulder where the bite is already healing, patting his chest and face like touch is the only thing that will assure him Derek’s truly in one piece. “Derek, are you okay? Talk to me, say something, please.”</p><p>Derek’s not sure what to do with all this unexpected attention, and fights the urge to brush the probing hands away. He’s taken worse in fights before, which Stiles must know. Though, he supposes, they’re something different to each other now. </p><p>OR</p><p>After years of assuming Stiles would never want more than his friendship, Derek is pleasantly surprised to be drawn into an intense relationship with him. Being with Stiles is good, great even. But then why, exactly, does it feel like they're more distant than ever?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to [Matildajones](http://archiveofourown.org/users/matildajones/pseuds/matildajones) and [Shiftsideways](http://shiftsideways.tumblr.com/) for quick and insightful beta reads!
> 
> Please see end notes for more information about the tags.

Derek’s back slams into rough bark, hard enough to punch the air out of his lungs. He manages to stay on his feet when he hits the ground, but he’s disoriented long enough for the basilisk that sent him flying to rush in with teeth bared; he dodges out of the way, but too slow. Its fangs sink into his shoulder.

In the distance, he can hear a hoarse shout, Stiles or maybe Scott, but he doesn’t have time to think about that. He jams a forearm into the monster’s jaws, behind the teeth, and presses back hard so it can’t dig its fangs deeper or pull back to bite again without giving him room to counterattack. The wound isn’t too deep, certainly nothing fatal; the basilisk may be fast, but he’s stronger. Grunting with effort, he twists his other arm, which is still pinned by the sinuous, muscled body of the beast. Just a bit more and he’ll get it free, he can slice his claws down into its eye.

But suddenly there’s no resistance; the monster topples backwards, bringing Derek down with it. He scrambles to his knees, prepared for another attack, but it’s dead. The body is sheared basically in half, black blood and guts spilled over the forest floor in a stinking, steaming mess. Derek blinks around in confusion, expecting to find Kira and her katana.

She’s nowhere in view, but Scott and Stiles are dashing towards him as he coughs and sits back, wiping ineffectually at the slimy viscera splashed all over his chest.

Scott slows to a jog as he sees Derek upright and moving, but Stiles keeps running hard. He slides to his knees on the dirt and moss next to Derek and grabs at his shirt.

“Der?” he asks, over-loud and panicky. He’s oblivious to the gore around them, even though he’s kneeling in it. His hands flutter over Derek’s shoulder where the bite is already healing, patting his chest and face like touch is the only thing that will assure him Derek’s truly in one piece. “Derek, are you okay? Talk to me, say something, please.”

He sounds sincerely worried, so Derek fights the urge to brush his probing hands away. “I’m fine,” he says instead. Derek’s not sure what to do with all this unexpected attention; he’s taken worse in fights before, which Stiles must know. Though, he supposes, they’re something different to each other now.

Instead of calming, Stiles sits back on his heels and bursts into dry, uneven sobs that look like they’re inching up into a panic attack.

“Are _you_ okay?” Derek asks, blinking in surprise. Stiles has never been one to fall apart after a fight, and lately he’s seemed even more in control of himself. It’s disconcerting to see him lose it like this, over such a small thing. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Stiles gasps. “Everything’s good, I’m fine. Sorry.” He takes a few deep, unsteady breaths. His hands are still gripping Dereks henley tight enough that the stitching in the collar is popping. “I just can't lose you,” Stiles mumbles, half pulling Derek to him and half falling forward into the embrace, pressing up against Derek so closely he’s as good as sitting on his lap. Derek awkwardly returns the hug, glancing at Scott. Their Alpha’s not quite looking away, but he won’t make eye contact either. Derek and Stiles are… well, they’re _something_ now. But they’ve never attempted this level of PDA in front of Scott, or any of the pack.

“Stiles,” Scott says sharply. “Your spell just tore that monster in half from 40 feet away. What the fuck?”

Derek pulls his head back to stare at the man in his arms. Scott doesn’t sound like he’s lying, but there’s no way Stiles could do something like that. Despite Deaton’s instruction the spells he has control over are barely more than magic tricks; he’s alway bitching about how useless his spark is in a fight.

“I wasn’t even sure it would work,” Stiles says, turning slightly away from Derek and scrubbing a fist under his nose. “I’ve been practicing lots with Deaton, that’s all.”

Derek doesn’t hear the tell-tale skip of a lie, but Stiles has a cool, even look in his eyes that’s not quite right. He can tell that Scott’s having the same thought.

“Sure,” Scott says after a beat, sounding exhausted and bitter. “Deaton. That's why you're always too busy to hang out, right?” He rolls his shoulders up and back, but they almost instantly slump down again.

Derek squirms. Stiles always has time for him, even if it’s just to do his schoolwork in the loft instead of at home or in the library. He has time to sit and watch Derek doing small household chores, time to kiss and touch for hours on the couch as some dumb movie plays in the background. No matter what kind of relationship they’re in now, it’s beyond weird that he has time for that, but not for his best friend.

Scott nudges the basilisk's head with the toe of his sneaker and sighs. “Well, with this one dead there’s not much chance of finding the nest tonight. Let’s just go home and clean up. Guess I’ll see you… whenever.”

His posture is still tight and hurting when he walks away, and Derek turns to Stiles to ask him what they should do about Scott, about how withdrawn he’s been since Allison. Stiles, though, looks anything but worried. He looks pissed. “Fuck him,” Stiles mutters. “He’s _disappointed_ I killed it? That thing could have… you were in danger.”

“I really wasn’t,” Derek protests. _Fuck Scott?_ It’s as if he’s holding a stranger.

“You don’t know that,” Stiles says in a fierce, low whisper.

And that’s just weird enough that Derek’s shrugs and lets it stand. _Stiles_ is weird these days, honestly; he seems distracted and forgetful most of the time, but also like he’s more focused, more aware. It's concerning, especially after the Nogitsune. Derek tries not to worry, tries to remember that people Stiles’ age change all the time. Sometimes he even manages to believe himself that everything’s okay.

 

*

 

Stiles tags along to the loft rather than going home, and almost before the door is closed he’s got his mouth on Derek’s neck and his arms over his shoulders, one leg hitched up to Derek’s hip like he’s trying to climb him.

“Stiles,” Derek protests, trying to set the alarm despite the way the other man is clinging to him. Stiles draws back and Derek instantly regrets his tone; the expression on Stiles’ pale face is terrifyingly fragile, open; he looks like he’s waiting for Derek to say something that will break his heart.

Derek reaches for him. Being with Stiles is _good_ , amazing even. He doesn’t want to smother this new thing between them, just because Stiles’ intense focus makes him antsy sometimes.

“I’m sorry, I know you’re shaken up,” Derek says. “But I’m fine,” he adds, or tries to - Stiles crushes the words back into his mouth with a forceful kiss and won’t let him finish. Sometimes he can’t seem to stand conversation, a strange quirk for someone so talkative. Derek figures he can go with it; Stiles was the one who was upset tonight, even if he had no real cause to be.

“You need to be careful,” Stiles says, intense and focused.

“I am. I will be. Look, at least let me take a shower,” Derek says, but Stiles barely seems to hear him. “I’m covered in monster guts,” he adds wryly.

“Yeah, sorry. Sure,” Stiles says. He finally moves back, but his hand lingers at Derek’s waist.

Derek kisses him on the temple before disentangling and heading for the shower. “I’ll only be a minute.”

Under the jet of hot water, Derek tries to settle everything in his mind. Stiles being clingy, of all things, nervous about fights when he never has been before. Is it about the new thing between them, or is Stiles just more frightened in general, after the Nogitsune? Derek’s always felt that they understood each other, that they operated on the same wavelength. Now, despite their fledgling relationship, he doesn’t feel that way at all. It’s like Stiles has turned into someone he doesn’t know. He thinks again of Stiles’ anger at Scott, and how it had felt as if he didn’t know the man in his arms at all.

Which is ridiculous, of course. Stiles is just being Stiles, and Derek just isn’t used to how actual relationships function. Probably it’s normal to be worried when your... well, when the person you’re seeing is almost killed. He feels like an asshole for brushing off Stiles’ concern all of a sudden, and sighs into his palms as he rinses his face. He really can’t imagine why Stiles is with him at all, or if he still will be in another month despite the intense ‘us against the world’ thing they have going on for the moment. They don’t really talk about the ‘why.’ They don’t really talk about anything. The water runs in warm rivulets down his body, finally clear of any stringy, black goop.

“Der?” Stiles’ voice is reedy from other side of the door, concern barely hidden. “Everything okay?”

“Yes,” Derek says.

A long pause, before a small voice asks, “can I come in?”

Derek fights the absurd impulse to cover up. They haven’t done that much in the couple weeks they’ve been together, but they’re definitely past the point where it would be weird to see each other naked. “Sure,” he says, aiming for casual.

Stiles slips in and sits on the toilet seat. He watches intently through the glass door as Derek squirts some shampoo into his hair and tousles it clean. It’s almost as if he’s afraid that Derek he might disappear if he looks away too long.

Scrubbing the back of his neck, Derek tries to be less hyper-aware of being watched. Desired. He knows he’s good looking, but he hasn’t enjoyed it since high school. It feels like a burden most days; the extra attention, the never quite knowing if a basic kindness is flirting in disguise. Sometimes he can’t help but wonder, too. Would Kate really have come up with the plan to seduce him to get to his family if he hadn’t been growing up a bit too fast, a bit too pretty? He knows he wears his looks like ill-fitting clothes, most of the time: uncomfortably, self-aware.

“You’re beautiful,” Stiles says. His amber eyes are big and honest, fixed on Derek’s face like it’s just as important as his abs, his dick, anything else Stiles could be looking at.

Derek blinks at him, feeling heavy droplets on his lashes. He’s no good at taking compliments, but the way Stiles says the words makes it different. Like it’s a fact, not a way to get him to do something. He thinks, maybe it’s not so bad. To at least look like someone worth loving.

**

He undresses Stiles as they stumble into the bedroom, leaving a trail of dirty fabric across the floor behind them. Once they hit the sheets it’s just skin on skin, hands and mouths exploring, wet kisses and gasps and no words.

Days into their relationship they were already at this level of intimacy - rubbing off against each other, panting and fast like teenagers. Well, like they were both teenagers. Derek reasons that getting this physical this fast is to make up for all the sexual tension that he apparently wasn’t imagining for the years they’ve known one another. Stiles is 18 now, he must know what he wants. Derek drops a hand between Stiles’ legs to get a grip on his cock, brushing the sensitive spot right below the head with the pad of his thumb.

Stiles moans and bucks up into his hand, but he also grabs Derek’s wrist and pulls him away.

“Sorry -- are you good? Sorry,” Derek says quickly.

“Yes! I’m, I mean, I’m _so_ good,” Stiles replies. “Just tonight, I kinda wanted to, uh...” Stiles tentatively stirs a finger in the air between them. “Have actual sex?”

“As opposed to the fake sex we’ve been having up until now?” Derek’s aiming for nonchalant but his heart’s going so hard and fast even human Stiles can probably hear it.

“You know what I mean,” Stiles says with the first genuine smile since the monster. Then the expression fades and he’s back to tentative, needy. “Only if you want to.”

Derek swallows twice before he can speak. It’s moving quickly, maybe, but the idea’s been in his head since before it would have been legal, and now it has the weight of true possibility. He has a vivid, so-close-he-can-taste-it image of them moving together, can almost feel the sensation of it. And Stiles is asking if he wants? “Definitely, we can do that.”

“Good,” Stiles says. His eyes are dark with lust, and a small smile is playing on his lips as he lets his eyes wander over Derek’s chest, and then lower. “We belong together, you know? I wanna be in you tonight, feel you tight and hot around me - all real, and here and _mine_.”

“Yeah,” Derek says, thinking _yours_ , not thinking how Stiles knows he prefers bottoming.

Derek rolls onto his hands and knees while Stiles gets the lube Derek bought mostly to ease the hand jobs and maybe with the half-acknowledged hope for more. He hasn’t done this since New York and he’s a little nervous. Stiles’ fingers are sure when he eases into Derek, though, almost practiced as he works them in and scissors him open. It’s better than painless -- it’s so sweet he aches with it, the half forgotten feeling of being filled. Derek mutters unintelligible praise into the sheets, dropping his chest against the mattress as Stiles licks alongside his fingers, moaning like he’s the one being licked and teased so perfectly. His breath is hot on Derek’s skin, but cold where it hits the wetness of spit and lube.

“You good?” he asks, pressing a kiss to the base of Derek’s spine. “You want me, right?”

“Fuck, yes,” Derek pants. With anyone else he’d be ashamed how needy it comes out, but this is Stiles, Stiles who’s already seen him at his worst. He can’t even bring himself to care that he’s begging.

Stiles rises to his knees, shifting his weight on the bed, lines them up. He pushes in with one long, slow thrust and Derek arches back into the sensation like a cat.

“You’re the only thing I need, I’d do anything to be with you,” Stiles says softly when he bottoms out, draped over Derek’s back to whisper the words into his ear. “This is forever, okay? You’re my everything.”

“Yeah,” Derek says, meaning it even as he knows that it’s just pillow talk for Stiles, the kind of over-dramatic thing you mumble when you’re only thinking about how good it feels. Stiles keeps talking and Derek answers without intention, broken little affirmations, a barely comprehensible chant of _yes, yes, Stiles, yes_.

Stiles goes right for Derek’s sweet spots, ones he knows he has but then he also finds angles that Derek never thought would feel as good as they do. Derek fumbles until he can grab Stiles’ hand, threading their fingers together and squeezing all his excess emotion into the hold. Stiles’ rhythm goes a bit unsteady and Derek files it away - this trembling urgency is Stiles getting close. His free hand stops its reverent migrations across Derek’s back to find his cock, though with the feel of Stiles moving inside him and his muscled chest pressed flush along his back Derek probably wouldn’t need to be touched at all. Stiles touches him anyway, steady and sure, like he’s had years of practice in just how to coax Derek’s orgasm out of him. It hits in such an intense wave that Derek almost sobs, and Stiles peaks into his own orgasm at the sound.

He doesn’t pull out; he stays pressed close to Derek as they ease down and end up spooning comfortably despite the mess, their hands still clasped tight. They stay connected like that for a long, luxurious stretch of time. Derek vaguely promises himself he’ll do laundry tomorrow.

Stiles hums with pleasure when he finally eases out and rolls onto the other side of the bed, burrowing into Derek’s covers. He’s still flushed from sex, relaxed and gorgeous. Derek can barely believe he gets to have this, too. Not just Stiles pressed up against him all hot mouth and need, but Stiles sleepy and vulnerable in his bed. This was never something he deserved, even if it’s something he imagined when they bantered over research or after a fight when they had each others’ backs. He’d never truly imagined Stiles would want him, too.

“Hey, wake up,” Derek says reluctantly, pulling up his sleep pants. He shakes Stiles’ shoulder when he doesn’t get a response beyond an annoyed groan. “It’s getting late, your dad will worry.”

“I called him when you were in the shower,” Stiles says sleepily. “Told him I’d stay over.”

“Oh,” Derek says, surprised. “He’s… I mean, is that okay?”

“C’mere,” Stiles slurs through a sleepy smile. Derek tentatively curves in beside him, wraps an arm around his waist to pull him in snug. Stiles wriggles back into the embrace and Derek can’t help but watch him as his mouth eases open, as his breath evens out into a steady, slow rhythm. He could get used to this. Stiles seems so at ease it’s as if he already is.

It’s crazy to feel this way already, after only a few weeks, but on the other hand haven’t they known each other for years? The words are on the tip of his tongue, and have been for days. The only thing stopping him is he’s sure it’s too soon to say something that serious, that it will scare Stiles off. Instead, he cuddles close, resting his head on Stiles’ shoulder.

Then Stiles, nudged awake, murmurs, “love you.” He says it easily, half-muffled into the sheets.

Derek fumbles back: “I, uh, l-love you, too,” and Stiles smiles slightly, snuggles deeper into the covers. He doesn’t even look at Derek, like the words are nothing special, like it doesn’t matter that this is the first time they’ve ever exchanged them.

*

Derek tries to pretend that it’s fine, tries to sleep. But he can’t stop his spiraling thoughts and the passing idea from earlier in the day -- _a stranger_ \-- hooks into his brain. Yes, there was the Nogitsune, and maybe he’s just overly-concerned about changes that are perfectly normal. But if he’s honest with himself that’s a coward’s answer; he knows Stiles was still himself after the possession, maybe a bit shaken, but himself. This is something different. Derek doesn’t have a ton of experience with healthy relationships, but even he knows that exchanging ‘I love yous’ is supposed to matter. He knows it’s not supposed to be ‘you’re my everything’ this soon.

Derek tries to catalog the other recent strangeness: the magic from earlier, of course, but also the way Stiles avoids Scott, avoids the whole Pack; how there are little moments where he seems thrown by things he _knows_ , like Derek’s blue eyes...

Only no, none of that was the start. Derek doesn’t want to think it but the day they kissed was the first strangeness, wasn’t it? It had come out of nowhere, like a lightswitch flicking on. One day they were all sarcasm and growls, the next Stiles was spending the pack meeting serious and quiet, glancing at Derek’s lips so intently he kept trying to wipe them clean.

Stiles stayed after the meeting that day, even when Scott offered him a ride, just flipping listlessly through old research and staring when he thought Derek didn’t notice. He’d finally snapped under the unfamiliar attention, saying, “Jesus, Stiles! What are you even doing here?”

Stiles had said, “nothing,” so faintly and unlike his usual, brash self that Derek had done a double-take.

“Well… okay then.” Derek had said, but instead of leaving, Stiles got closer, right up in Derek’s space. And before he even had time to ask ‘why are you doing that,’ they were kissing.

It was the kind of kiss you remember. Stiles’ lips were softer than Derek thought possible, while the kiss was anything but – it was all passion and teeth clicking and Stiles holding Derek’s head in both hands like he needed Derek’s mouth on him to live. When they finally broke apart, Derek’s lips were tingling and he was out of breath. He can still see Stiles’ mouth, flushed and plump from the kiss; he had never looked better.

Derek must have looked stunned, because Stiles had said. “I’ve just wanted to. For a long time, and I thought… you too?”

“Yes,” Derek had said. Because of course he’d wanted Stiles, his sharp wit and broad shoulders, his boundless energy and fascinating constellations of moles, but he never thought he’d given Stiles any reason to think of him that way. He had been so certain Stiles would never want even his friendship, much less… this.

That was the start.

He should have known Stiles would never be like this around him, not the real Stiles. So, a shapeshifter? He's crossed mountain ash at least once during their hunt for the Basilisks’ nest, so that rules out most shifters Derek knows of. Most supernatural beings period, in fact. Is it a love spell? Only that doesn’t quite fit with the surprise, the avoiding other people. Stiles doesn’t smell like magic, anyway, except for his own. In fact, he smells exactly right, exactly like himself. Nothing could imitate that. Derek is working himself up over nothing.

Stiles’ phone rings, way too loud in the dead quiet room. One gangly limb flails out of the covers in a panic, grabbing for it on the nightstand.

Hair messy from sex and sleep, Stiles makes a face at the display as he sits up against the headboard and answers the call.

“Hey Dad,” he winces into the phone. “No, no. Yeah. Derek’s,” he says with a guilty glance up. “Yeah, I was just, uh, pretty tired. No. Some supernatural stuff. Yeah, I know. Look, can I just stay here? It’s already what, 2am?” That gets him a long, angry answer that Derek could probably decipher even without werewolf hearing.

“Let’s talk about it in the morning,” Stiles whines. “I’m already here.”

Another angry reply, and then Stiles mutters, “Love you, too,” and hangs up. He tosses the phone back on the nightstand with a long, exhausted sigh.

“You didn’t call while I was in the shower,” Derek states.

Stiles looks at least a bit abashed. “Not exactly.”

It’s so perfectly _not Stiles_ to treat his dad like this, as if he’s forgotten he even exists when it comes to spending more time with Derek. Maybe it’s not a love spell, but it’s something. No matter what he smells like, this can’t be Stiles.

“Guess he can’t be more pissed than when you and I snuck out into the preserve to find Malia,” Derek says, as casually as if that’s something that ever happened.

Stiles’ face is studiously blank. “Yeah, probably.”

And that’s that. Derek knows for sure.

Derek shoves himself off the bed, away from this thing wearing Stiles’ face. “You’re not Stiles.”

“What? Of course I am,” the younger man shoots back. Quick and easy, like he’s rehearsed it.

“You’re not even curious why I would say something like that? You’re not him. So what are you? Changeling? Shape shifter?” Derek paces at the foot of the bed.

Stiles scoffs. “C’mon, Der. Don’t you think it would be more obvious if I was secretly a monster? I _am_ really Stiles,” he repeats. No lie in his heartbeat. But then, there wasn’t before either..

Stiles seems to pick up on the hesitation. “C’mon,” he urges. “You know me, you know my scent. I’m Stiles; You’re Derek. We’re both here, we’re both okay. Just come back to bed.”

“You’re not _my_ Stiles, though.” Derek tests on a hunch. “You’re not the Stiles I know.”

Not-Stiles finally breaks eye contact. “Of course I’m yours, Der, don’t say that.”

“No,” Derek says, with more conviction. “You’re not. What did you do to him?”

“I _am_ him,” the doppelganger insists. “In every way that matters.”

“Stop lying,” Derek snarls, dropping his fangs as he shifts.

There’s not even a hint of fear in not-Stiles’ eyes when he looks down pointedly at Derek’s clawed hands. “What, you’re going to rip my throat out? C’mon. You can’t tell me the last few weeks haven’t been perfect. Right Der? We’re _good_ together.”

“I don’t care. Where is my Stiles?”

“Can you stop with the ‘my Stiles’ already?” he says, with a curl of his lip. “Considering my spell was specifically crafted to send me to a branch of reality where we _weren’t_ together, I think I’m more your Stiles than the original ever was.” His eyes when they meet Derek’s are narrow and challenging.

“Branch of…” Derek mutters, losing the shift. Fucking Beacon Hills. “You’re from an _alternate_ _reality_? Then, is my Stiles in your universe now? Is he alright?”

“It’s weird to be jealous of my alternate self, right?” other-Stiles groans. “Look, I’m sure he’s fine. It’s hard to throw yourself too many skips over, so things are basically the same there. Just enough different that… just enough different.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Why would you literally warp space-time to get out of your reality if you’re not running away from, I don’t know, the apocalypse?” Other-Stiles shoots him a guilty glance.

“It’s just a reality I personally don’t like. Okay? _He’ll_ be fine.”

Derek looks at him, thinking. “You said a universe where we’re not together. So, something about our relationship is the thing you don’t like. But then the first thing you do is kiss me.”

Other-Stiles goes shifty again. “Just drop it, okay? It’s nothing.”

“Am I… hurting people in your reality? Am I hurting you?”

“Jesus, no,” other-Stiles snaps. “I’m pretty sure that absolutely every version of Derek is just as much of a noble, self-sacrificing softie as you are. We’re both here, now, so just forget this even happened. Everything is perfect.”

 _Self-sacrificing?_ Derek thinks. He tries to remember exactly what happened the first time he’d seen this version of Stiles – it must have been the pack meeting a few weeks back. The meeting before their first kiss.

Other-Stiles had been late. Scott had to text him twice to get a response, and he’d finally stumbled into the loft in a flail of limbs and a burst of apologies. And next… next he’d spotted Derek and gone wide eyed, silent. His mouth had fallen open, he’d taken a half step closer before catching himself. At the time it was just Stiles being spastic, he’d certainly played to that as soon as Scott had asked what was up. But in retrospect… _we’re both here_ , Derek thinks and he knows.

“I’m dead. In your reality, I died.”

“Got it in one! Great, thank you, wow,” Not-Stiles sings out, bitter sarcasm dripping in each syllable. “What an exciting topic, don’t I look like I’m just overjoyed to discuss it?”

It’s a strange feeling, learning about your not-own death. Derek sits heavily back onto the bed, next to other-Stiles. “How did it happen?”

Other-Stiles shrinks in on himself, face pinched. “I was possessed by the Nogitsune here, right?”

“Yeah,” Derek says, stomach dropping.

“Well, that’s how.”

Despite the sarcasm and snapping, other-Stiles looks vulnerable again, like earlier that afternoon. Or like that night, seeing Derek for the first time in what must have been months. And since then he’s been lying every minute of every day, keeping it together, pretending. Derek feels a sudden, absurd pang of sympathy.

“You still didn’t have to… do this. I mean, leaving your _reality_. Why?”

The Other Stiles pulls his knees up to his chest. “It was so fucking messed up. The way it happened… it was my fault. I was _doing_ it. I was right there, it was my hand on the trigger and I couldn’t _stop_ it.” He blinks rapidly, not letting the tears pooling in his eyes fall. As he offers up his explanation, he looks small and lost, like the real Stiles had just after his father told him about what happened at the hospital. Only this had been worse for him, hadn’t it? Killing the version of Derek who really was worth something.

“I’m sorry,” Derek says quietly. He hesitantly reaches a hand out to other-Stiles’ neck, cupping it firmly in a way he’s learned calms him down.

Other-Stiles rests his cheek on Derek’s forearm, then turns in for a full-body hug. His fingers clutch into Derek’s back, scrabbling at the bare skin.

“I wasn’t even sure, when I got here, that you hadn’t died anyway. Or maybe the reason we weren’t together was that you hated me. I didn’t know until I saw you.” He tucks himself tighter into Derek’s embrace. “But when you were here, _alive,_ looking at me like that… I was right, you still loved me but if we weren’t together the Nogitsune would have left you alone.”

Derek doesn’t know what to say to that.

“Please don’t make me go back there,” Stiles whispers, breath hot on Derek’s neck. “It’s torture. Everyone looks at me like I’m broken. They won’t talk to me normally, they know it’s my fault. I can’t go back.”

“Stiles, I…” Derek starts.

“Please, don’t,” other-Stiles interrupts, cutting off Derek’s half-hearted protestations. “Just let me stay with you. We can be together, here.”

And for a second, Derek thinks it wouldn’t be so wrong. This Stiles _loves_ him, he bent reality so they could be together. And he’s right, the original Stiles won’t mind being in a universe where Derek’s dead, not that much. But this Stiles, the one in his arms begging to stay… Derek’s death almost destroyed him. Is it so wrong to make that exchange?

A second later, he feels sick. Of course it’s wrong. Other-Stiles may want this, and he may be tempted too, but his Stiles didn’t choose to be ripped out of their timeline, away from his actual father and friends. You can’t just play with the laws of the universe to get what you want, no matter how much you want it.

“You’re not the Stiles I know,” Derek says, half to remind himself.

“I’m better,” other-Stiles answers. “I’ll be so good for you, haven’t I been good? He wouldn’t do this for you, but I can. I can say all the right things, I can be him if you just let me…” He leans in and presses their mouths together, runs his tongue over Derek’s lips and works him open, needy whines and hot tongue.

And fuck his life but it feels familiar and comforting, like things are only supposed to when they're really yours. It would be easy as falling to just pretend that this is everything he needs. Derek breaks the kiss.

“I'm not him, either.” Derek says, breathless but determined, and feels Stiles go rigid in his embrace. “Your Derek. This isn’t fixing anything, it’s just… make believe.” Stiles pushes back and opens his mouth like he wants to argue, but he can’t quite get the words out.

Derek presses on. “You don’t want to talk with me because I might say the wrong thing. You didn’t even react when I told you I loved you for the first time tonight, because you’re trying to imagine I’m the one that already said it. You could remember that I’m just myself - if it honestly didn’t make any difference to you. But you don’t. You only want to be here with me so you can remember him.”

“I don’t, don’t say that,” Stiles protests. “You’re still Derek, it’s fine. Let's just stay like this.”

Derek shakes his head. “I’m not him,” he says. “You have to go back, and you know it.”

Stiles looks wrecked, but he doesn’t argue. He looks very small curled up in the middle of the empty bed when Derek stands up and backs away.

“We’ll go see Deaton tomorrow. You can stay here. I’ll… I’ll go sleep on the couch.”

Derek leaves the other Stiles alone in his bed, but he doesn’t end up sleeping at all.

 

*

 

“Imagine a life being a thread in a tapestry. If there’s a small pull, the fabric isn’t affected overly much. But if the thread is removed all the way? That’s something different. When an entire life is unhooked from the fabric of its reality, connections upon connections are irrevocably destroyed. The tapestry - reality - starts to fall apart.”

“So what you’re saying is, there’s a reason people don’t do this all the time,” other-Stiles says, trying to make it a joke.

“You need to go back,” Deaton says. “As soon as possible. It will be harder, the longer you stay.”

“Can it just… tomorrow?” Other-Stiles blinks up at the vet, almost painfully hopeful. Derek swallows a lump in his own throat.

“Tonight,” Deaton says, with a sympathetic smile and heavy finality. “I’ll have everything ready by 9pm.”

It’s almost noon already. Other-Stiles reflexively grabs Derek’s hand, crushingly tight.

“We should tell Scott and the pack,” Derek says, already imagining their laughing relief. _Of course our Stiles would never want Derek this way, wouldn’t chose him over us, of course this isn’t Stiles, it all makes sense now._ He can imagine their disgust, too - that he fell for it, that he took advantage. It makes him sick that they know all the things he’d happily do to their friend given half the chance.

His loving Stiles makes a kind of pathetic sense; of course the morose social reject falls for the brightest, funniest guy in the group. It never made sense the other way around, someone with Stiles’ quicksilver wit and beauty fawning over him. Who knows what strange twist of fate turned this Stiles into someone desperate enough to be with Derek, or how that Derek managed to be a better man than he’s figured out how to be - but it sure as hell didn’t happen in this universe.

“I’ll call them,” Deaton says, glancing between Derek and Stiles. “We’ll need them for the spell, anyway. You two go... talk. I’ll see you tonight.”

 

*

 

They don’t talk on the car ride to the loft, or try to touch again after other-Stiles lets go of his hand when they get into the car. Derek half expects other-Stiles to make a break for it - roll out of the moving vehicle, hop to the next universe to find another Derek who hasn’t put two and two together yet - but Deaton’s words seem to have crushed any resistance in him. He looks very young, slumped down in the seat and staring listlessly out the window.

“I’m so sorry. I know you’re not him,” Stiles says thickly once they’re in the loft, sitting awkwardly on opposite sides of the couch and still very consciously not touching. “I know that, now. And that means I’m not who you thought I was, either. I just wanted…” he breaks off and regroups. “I look at you and I just see _us_. Stiles and Derek. But you’re not him and I’m not the me you love and I didn’t… I just let you think that....”

“It’s fine,” Derek offers softly.

“It’s not,” Stiles says, mouth twisting. “I tricked you, you thought I was someone else and I used that to… to have you.” It seems he can’t even look at Derek now. “That’s the opposite of _fine_. It’s fucked up.”

Derek sighs, shrugs. Thinks of all the horrors in his life; in comparison, it’s hard to imagine this ranks. “Okay, it’s not fine,” he agrees. “But I don’t blame you, and I’m not going to be mad. Not about this.”

Stiles shivers, and drops a hand to Derek’s knee like he can’t help himself. His fingers tighten and he twists around, pulling one knee up on the couch to face Derek fully. “Why?”

Derek lets his own hand curl around Stiles’. “You’re not him, but… you’re still Stiles. You’re a lot alike,” he says with a wry smile.

Stiles’ expression crumbles into something so needy it cuts. “I get that you’re not the Derek I knew, either, not really. And I’m not trying to convince you to let me stay, anymore. I’ll go back like Deaton says. But, you’re a lot like him too, and your Stiles? He gets you forever. I don’t have… Just please, until I have to go?”

Stiles doesn’t say it outright, but the implication is heavy in the air. Derek wets his lips, breaks eye contact. “Are you sure that…”

“I can’t think about going back yet, Der, or I’ll lose my mind,” other-Stiles interrupts. “It terrifies me how I was already forgetting how your eyes look, the way you taste, how your voice sounds… and it had just been a few months. Now I’m going to have fucking _years_ for forgetting,” he breaks off with a shuddering breath, half a sob. “I’m going to have a whole lifetime without you, please don’t make me start now. _Please_.”

And it’s not _his_ Stiles but it’s still _Stiles_ , wrecked face tilted up into the late-afternoon light and begging for something Derek wants anyway.

He cups the back of his neck, pulls their faces close, and as they exchange kisses that taste like tears Derek can almost convince himself that it’s enough.

*

 

Scott and Lydia are already there when Derek and other-Stiles turn up at about a quarter ‘till. The Sheriff is on shift, and apparently the decision has been made for the sake of his blood pressure to tell him about other-Stiles after the fact. Neither teen seems to know how to react to Stiles now that they know he isn’t _their_ Stiles, and Derek doesn’t meet their eyes when they glance at him for a cue.

Deaton greets them with a gentle smile, and begins to tell the group how Scott and Lydia will act as anchors to their Stiles. Derek tunes out of the complicated explanations. Nothing he needs to know; he isn’t an anchor for their Stiles, after all. He’s just around to shuttle other-Stiles to where he needs to be. Scott and Lydia help Deaton paint runes on the floor from a photocopy of what looks to be ancient parchment. Nobody asks other-Stiles or Derek for anything.

Other-Stiles sticks to Derek’s side while Deaton finishes the preparations, avoiding any contact with Scott or Lydia. Every once in a while he presses his mouth to Derek’s shoulder – not quite a kiss – and just breathes in his scent. Derek holds his hand and tries not to think.

“Stiles?” Deaton prompts at 9:07. The runes are completed.

“Okay,” other-Stiles says, and again softly: “okay.” He lets his hand slip loosely out of Derek’s and walks into the circle of runes.

So this is it. He’s leaving. It shouldn’t matter to Derek, should it? Yes, it had felt good to be wanted, to think that Stiles felt the same. But he didn’t really - not the Stiles Derek wants, anyway. What he’d shared with this other Stiles wasn’t actually his. It was just… an echo of something that could have been, if he’d been more lovable, if some necessary element of his life had swerved left not right. It shouldn’t matter at all that it’s over. It shouldn’t.

“Wait,” Derek says. Two big steps take him into the rune circle, too, where he gathers other-Stiles in his arms. He can’t even bring himself to care that Scott and Lydia are staring, not with Stiles’ chest pressed against his, a pair of lanky arms circling his neck. “I love you,” he breathes into other-Stiles’ ear, hearing the other man’s breath go ragged. It’s half for this Stiles, to give him something good to remember. But only half. Derek won’t ever get another chance, either.

“No matter what happens, I’m glad I came,” comes the muffled reply. “I’m glad I could see you again.” With one last, hard squeeze, he pushes Derek away, his back ramrod straight. He nods at Deaton, who begins to chant in a language Derek can’t place.

Stiles just has time to turn his eyes to Derek before he— flickers. There’s not another way to say it. He stutters in and out of invisibility, just for a split-second. Derek almost turns to Deaton to double check if that was it, if the spell actually worked so simply.

But in the end he doesn’t need to. Stiles’ shoulders have a different set, and his expression is _right_ in a way Derek hadn’t known he’d recognize – open and a bit confused, not the guarded calculation of other-Stiles.

“Stiles!” Scott exclaims, rushing forward to grab Stiles into a bear hug. Lydia’s there too, brushing Stiles’ hair nervously away from his face to check that he’s alright, wearing a big relieved smile like she can barely believe everything worked out in the end. So, other-Stiles is definitely gone. Derek rocks a bit on his feet. This is things working out. This is not a tragedy.

“Is this – dude, you’re _Scott_ -Scott, right? Am I back?” Stiles asks. Their Stiles.

Derek feels... maybe not good, yet, but _right_ about the exchange. And as he watches their Stiles grinning at Scott, a knot he didn’t know was there loosens in his chest. No matter what he’s losing, it’s worth it to have the Stiles he fell in love with back where he belongs.

All the same, he knows he’s not needed, now that the spell’s over and done with. He steps back, ready to fade out of the room like usual and leave this Stiles with the people he cares about.

“You’re totally back,” Scott is exclaiming. “Derek figured out what happened and made the other Stiles undo it,”

“Oh my God, Derek,” Stiles squawks. He disentangles from Scott and Lydia, and trips over into Derek’s space. Derek freezes, unsure what to expect. He knew that Scott and everyone else would fill Stiles in on what happened over the last couple weeks, he had prepared himself for Stiles being disgusted with how easily Derek fell into bed with his mirror-image. But of course, Stiles has to have already figured out that they had been seeing each other in the reality he just came from. How could he not? Derek swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. He’s probably guessed what Derek feels, even in this universe. Derek doesn’t want to imagine what he’s going to think, now that he knows. How can they go back to being friends? If he can say they were even that.

“Hey, wow,” Stiles says, reaching out to place a tentative palm on Derek’s chest. “Wow, you’re okay.” And, almost shyly, he pulls him into a tight hug. “You were _dead_ over there,” he says, with something akin to awe. “It was like, some darkest timeline shit.”

“Yeah,” Derek says, squirming out of the embrace. It feels too much like it did with other-Stiles, and he can’t afford to confuse that with his actual reality. “Glad to have you back.”

“Right,” Stiles says, looking down at his shoes. “Th-Thanks.”

 

*

 

Derek’s in his loft later that night, trying to ignore how empty it feels and how it still smells like Stiles. His sheets are in the washer downstairs, about half an hour left on the drying cycle when he hears a familiar heartbeat and tentative knock.

“Hey,” Stiles says, when he opens the door.

Derek automatically steps aside to let him in, even as he asks, “What are you doing here?”

“Nothing. I mean, I just wanted to say thanks, you know, and... sorry.”

“Sorry?” Derek echoes dumbly. “What do you have to be sorry for?” Stiles’ hands move against each other nervously, fidgety enough that Derek’s on edge just watching him. He wishes he was still allowed to reach out and calm him with a touch. Just a few weeks of having Stiles, and already the lack of it trips him up like a missing limb.

Stiles sighs. “Just that, you probably wish the other Stiles had stayed. You know, the awesome version of me; man with a plan, knows how to style his hair, about a million times better at magic - that guy. And obviously _he_ wanted to stay.” Stiles drops onto Derek’s couch, head lolling back listlessly. “So, doesn’t really seem fair, does it? I’m sorry that you just get me.”

“I don’t wish that he had stayed,” Derek objects, too quickly because for a moment, at least, he had. “Look, he wasn’t really better at magic, just desperate. You’ll be just as good soon, if you try.”

“Sure,” Stiles says, but he tosses it out carelessly, like he doesn’t really care about the magic at all. Not that Derek can think what else could be upsetting him. The hair thing?

“How could you tell? That it wasn’t me-me?” Stiles asks after a brief, awkward silence. “I mean, Scott couldn’t.”

Derek shakes his head. “He knew something was up, all the pack did. Other-Stiles just didn’t give them a chance to put things together. He was kind of… calculating.” Derek is glad his Stiles isn’t, that he still has some softer edges left. “He made a point to limit the time he spent around everyone.”

“Everyone except you,” Stiles points out.

“Yes,” Derek admits stiffly. “I guess we were... together a lot. Really, I should have worked it out sooner. I mean, the way he acted around me. The real us, we don’t actually...”

“Right,” Stiles says, hollowly. “We don’t.”

“That was all,” Derek says, sitting on the coffee table across from Stiles. He wishes this conversation was over, and he could hurry up with the bury-and-forget strategy that’s served him so well in the past. “He slipped up once too often and I knew he wasn’t my- that is, he wasn’t the right Stiles. He wasn’t you.”

Stiles stays seated on the couch, and Derek is itching to tell him to just leave already, stop confusing everything with his familiar scent and his questions. What does he want from Derek? He sets his jaw and doesn’t ask, or offer any comfort. It’s not his place to do that, not with this Stiles.

“Why were they together and we’re not?” Stiles says, his eyes finally flicking up to meet Derek. And it seems like this was the the real question, all along.

“I - I don’t know,” Derek says, mouth dry, thinking _if I did, maybe we would be_. “Could be anything.”

“It was a really shitty reality,” Stiles says in a burst, the first forceful tone he’s achieved so far. “The Nogitsune had a gun, he was going to shoot you unless you – other-you shot me – other me first. And you _didn’t_. You _died_ for me.”

“Oh,” Derek says, lamely. “I didn’t know that’s what happened.”

“Scott told me. Other-Scott.” Stiles scrubs his palm angrily across his face, eyes bright with tears. “Geeze, it’s so confusing.”

“No kidding,” Derek murmurs, thinking of Stiles’ face turned up to him in awe, saying _you’re beautiful_.

Stiles flinches. “You know, I’m just really glad you’re alive. I mean, I guess I’m just pathetic and lame or whatever, and that’s why it’s this epic love story there and we’re not even dating here. But if that means you’re okay, then fine. I’d rather be here and not even be friends.”

“Stiles, you’re not… we can be friends.” Derek can hardly keep up with what Stiles is saying. He knows he probably shouldn’t, but he reaches out to massage the back of Stiles’ neck. “Hey, don’t cry,” he murmurs, but it doesn’t help. If anything, Stiles looks more upset. “Stiles…”

With a flail of limbs, Stiles pushes off the couch and mashes their mouths together. It’s graceless and surprising and very much his Stiles.

He sits back before Derek barely has time to react, his mouth still open and eyes fixed on Derek’s face, obviously waiting for a reaction.

“What?” Derek says, stupidly.

“I don’t know,” Stiles blurts. “Is it okay? I know I’m not cool-Stiles, but I can…”

“Yes, you are,” Derek interrupts. “You’re the one I fell in love with. I don’t give a shit about magic, or his hair or whatever it is you’re talking about. You’re funnier, you’re actually nice to people who aren’t me… you’re perfect.”

Stiles gapes. “Wait, what?”

Derek shrugs - it’s all going to come out anyway. “Don’t ask me what’s different here, I don’t know. _You’re_ the one who doesn’t see me that way.”

“Oh my God, seriously?” Stiles says with a huge eyeroll.

Derek stares. Does that mean that…? He opens his mouth to point out that if Stiles thought he’d been obvious about having any romantic feelings for Derek he was dead wrong, but instead they end up kissing again.

It’s softer this time, slow enough Derek can tangle his fingers into his Stiles’ hair - he really does use too much gel - and lick into him, tease and suck and at least try to put everything he wanted to say into the kiss.

“I see you that way,” Stiles says when they finally part, his lips pink and wet. “And this? We should have been doing this forever. Except,” he says, freezing a little, “you know, for the part where you maybe would have died.”

“I’m good with this,” Derek says wryly and Stiles gives him a watery laugh. “I’m really good with this,” he repeats, more seriously. He brushes his fingers over Stiles’ face to wipe away the last tracks of wetness of his cheeks.

Stiles blinks dreamily at him for a moment, and then sits up straight with a start.

“Oh shit,” he says. “I should call my dad, he’s getting off shift in like ten minutes and he’s going to wonder where I am. Wait, why are you laughing?”

“Nothing, sorry,” Derek says, waving a hand. He’ll explain later. “Just… You’re definitely my Stiles.”

A slow smile blossoms across Stiles’ face. “Your Stiles. I like the sound of that.”


	2. Chapter 2

_Stiles turns. Or, his body does anyway. He has no say in any of that, not anymore. Behind him stands his pack, just like the Nogitsune wanted. They’re all here for him: his father, Lydia, Allison, Scott, Chris. Derek. Each of them is wearing an expression betraying a different blend of emotional wreckage and determination. None of them with enough pure determination to do what needs doing, Stiles realizes with a sinking feeling. They still think they can save him._

Get out _, he tries to yell._ If you can’t kill me then run. _But of course, his body just smiles._

_Derek dives at him first, all action and no forethought. Putting himself in danger, as usual. Stiles’ stomach about drops through the floor, but the Nogitsune only sidesteps his shoddily thrown claw swipe and grabs his arm, tossing him back against the wall like a rag doll. Stiles winces internally but he hopes, traitorously, it’s enough to keep the Alpha down. The Nogitsune turns back just in time to knock Chris’ gun out of his hands, skittering the weapon across the floor. The hunter pulls out another fast enough to get a wild shot off before the Nogitsune, laughing, plucks it from his hand and shoots him with it._

_He goes down hard, Allison screaming “no!” from Stiles’ left. Not fatal, Stiles thinks, half analysis and half hope. Chris sits up and scoots away from him, holding his shoulder. Not fatal - yet. The Nogitsune stalks forward, licking Stiles’ lips when something hits him in the shoulder and sparks, sending flares of pain shooting through him. An arrow, but not only that..._

_“Electricity? Again?” his voice says, calm. He snaps the shaft in half and brushes it away as it were nothing more than a mosquito bite. He’s angry, though, and he darts towards Allison, who’s separated herself from the group in an attempt to catch him unawares. Allison takes a half-step back and bumps into a wall. Her chin is held high, but he can feel the power coursing through his body. Chris whimpers behind them; half fear and half pain. She won’t stand a chance._

_“Stiles,” Derek shouts, and the Nogitsune turns to find him holding Chris’ other gun, leveled directly at his eyes. The Nogitsune licks his lips again as he watches the barrel wobble unsteadily. Allison dashes back to the group and relative safety while it’s distracted. Derek doesn’t shoot, but then neither does the Nogitsune when it raises its own weapon to point at the werewolf’s head. Scott makes an abortive movement towards the pair of them, but can’t bring himself to risk tipping the balance and seeing either of his friends shot._

_The Nogitsune stalks in closer, closer, until the end of his gun is bumping up against Derek’s cheek, just under his eye, and Derek’s is trembling against Stiles’ forehead. He can feel the Nogitsune’s excitement thrumming through his body’s veins._

_“Aw, you’re going to shoot me?” the Nogitsune asks with his voice. “Because I’ll keep walking, Der, I’ll keep right on keeping on. I’ve got just as much use for this boy’s corpse as the real thing, but you…” he tuts playfully._

_It’s bluffing. A bullet would stop it, at least long enough for them to do whatever they need to to put it down for good._ Do it,do it, you can’t save me anyway, _he’s screaming inside his own mind._

_Derek doesn’t shoot, exactly what the Nogitsune was counting on. “Here,” it says. “I’ll give you a fighting chance. It’s a game, okay? You shoot me or I shoot you. I’ll even count. One...”_

_Stiles already knows he can’t beat the Nogitsune, but he tries anyway. If he had a body it would be flailing, arms akimbo, straining every muscle... but he doesn’t have a body and the net effect of all his panic is exactly zero._

_“Two…”_ Come on _, he thinks,_ come on, just your finger. Just move your finger away from the trigger. You can do that. _But his finger doesn’t even twitch. A bullet to the head will take out even an Alpha, wolfsbane or no, and Stiles feels a sudden understanding settle like lead in his stomach. This is actually happening; if he doesn’t do something in the next second Derek will die. He’d been prepared for his own death but not this. Never this._

_Stiles tries to put that into his eyes as he looks at Derek, that he’s accepted his own death, that he forgives him for pulling the trigger first. That he needs him to do it, because Stiles will never be able to go on if he’s the one who makes it out alive._

_It’s not enough. Stiles sees it a second before the Nogitsune does, the softening around Derek’s eyes, the way they go a little hopeless. A tiny, non-verbal_ I can’t.

_Stiles wants to look away but he’s not in charge of his eyes any more than his finger and a small traitorous part of him is thinking, this is the last time he gets to see Derek alive and he wants a good close look._

_“Three.” Stiles feels his finger go tight on the trigger, feels the recoil jerk through his arm into his shoulder; there’s an impossibly loud crack ringing in his ears, and Derek’s on the floor, glassy eyed. His face is... it’s… and God does he want to look away now but he still can’t even un-focus his eyes. He can feel the gun hot in his hand and laughter vibrating through his chest._

_The Nogitsune is too distracted with lapping up Stiles’ anguish to notice anything else. Stiles barely registers the teeth sinking into his shoulder - Scott’s, he’ll learn later - and then everything is a jumble of pain and voices and bright lights._

_Later the wolf and fox will finish burning each other out of his body, leaving him weak but alive and more importantly himself. Later he’ll wake up, hoping that it was all a hallucinated nightmare, but it won’t be. He will be allowed to leave the hospital just in time to skip the funeral._

_Later, Stiles will understand that Derek saved him after all._

_*_

 

Stiles wakes up in his room, and for a second he’s disoriented by the cluttered walls so close around the small bed. Then he remembers. He’s been sent back to the version of reality where he sleeps alone in his childhood bed rather than the loft. There is no loft, here, and there’s no Derek. _Because you killed him_ , a helpful voice in his head supplies. The echo of the Nogitsune.

He grits his teeth, pushes it down, and forces himself upright for another long, miserable day of being treated like a breakable - no, a _broken_ object. Which he guesses he is.

The room is suffocating. He’s trapped here, like this, permanently. Running away had been the last sliver of hope he’d held out for being happy again, and that plan failed.

Everything in his room is a wreck from when that stupid kid who shares his face went rummaging through things trying to get back to his own timeline. All of his notes on the moon cycles are scattered on his desk, which is so far from relevant to the universe-skipping spell that it’s actually hilarious. Clearly Original Flavor doesn’t share his genius for magic.

That goddamn idiot who could have Derek and doesn’t even want him... Stiles would throttle him if it was possible for them to be in the same place without shattering space-time. All Stiles has now are his pictures of Derek and the little piece of shit left them in a messy pile on the desk with fingerprints and watermarks and dog-eared edges, jumbled together with a bunch of weird notes about banshees and pack bloodlines that don’t make any sense.

*

Scott drops by later that day. He wants to check in, he says. He’s worried about Stiles, he says, they all are. Blah, blah, blah. Everyone knew it was bad for him after… well. Scott finally stutters to a stop and Stiles fixes him with a cold stare, enjoys making someone else squirm for a change even as he knows he’s being cruel.

“It seemed like you were actually getting better,” Scott offers, along with a healthy serving of puppy-eyes. “But it was just because you were working on _this_. I mean, swapping universes? Stiles, you could have just talked to us.”

“Talking won’t bring him back.”

Scott looks at the floor. “I know I can’t fix it, but I wish you’d at least let me in, a little.”

“Why do you care, anyway? I thought you’d appreciate having the old, chipper Stiles back,” Stiles mumbles at his own chest.

“Man, no,” Scott protests, quickly enough that Stiles glances up, half believing it isn’t a lie. “We want you, the real you, to be alright. If you’d just let us help... Even other-Stiles wanted to help.”

Stiles snorts. “I bet. His universe is like, the sunshine and flowers version of ours.”

“Stiles,” Scott scolds, a gentle reprimand. “It’s not like that. He didn’t lose Derek, but he was still possessed. He still did things he needed to forgive himself for. Stiles, Allison didn’t leave for France there. She died.”

Stiles draws a quick breath. “But, I thought that...” He remembers how that universe’s Scott had seemed so worn and defeated, and thinks he should have known. All the times he brushed his best friend off come back to him with the bitter taste of guilt and shame. He had been so excited to see Derek alive, he’d never imagined someone died in his place. “I’m sorry.”

Scott gives him a small shrug. “Honestly, knowing what happened there puts her move into perspective, you know?” He gives Stiles a sad half-smile, and Stiles manages an anemic smile back. “I’m just saying, over there isn’t sunshine and flowers. You should cut other-you some slack.”

Stiles hugs his chest, folding into himself. “I can’t. All I can think about is trying to live the rest of my life knowing how good it was with Derek and that I _never_ get to have that again. But he does. Or he could. Except that he’s still too fucking stupid, or scared, to make it happen. His version of Derek’s still in love with him, and he’s so unhappy. I could… he could… But he _won’t_. I can’t forgive him for letting whatever the hell it is stop him from making things right.”

Scott frowns. “Maybe his Derek is an asshole.”

“He’s not. I was there, and he’s like, more of a fluff ball than my… my...” Stiles suddenly can’t quite say it, clears his throat instead. “He didn’t even kill Peter. When I saw him walking around _alive_ my eyes basically popped out of my head. Nearly blew my cover.”

“Wait, no,” Scott corrects, squinting in confusion. “We made Stiles tell us all about how things were there, and Derek definitely killed Peter.”

Stiles blinks, sitting up straight. “But I saw him. He swung through our pack meeting, Scott even waved. And Derek’s eyes were blue, because he never became an Alpha!”

“He did, though. He turned Isaac and Boyd and Erica, same as here. Stiles said Derek, like, gave up his Alpha powers just before the Nogitsune. Over something with Cora? I don’t think he completely understood it. But he got really weird when he found out that that never happened here and Derek was still an Alpha when he, well, you know.”

“Wait, weird how? Why would he care?”

Scott shrugs. “I dunno, that’s when he started doing all this,” he says, waving a hand at all the notes pinned up and scattered around the room.

Stiles feels something in his mind click into place, but it remains frustratingly out of reach. Peter killed but not dead, other-Stiles excited about Derek’s being an Alpha when it wouldn’t even matter. What was the other Stiles thinking? It wouldn’t matter unless…

Peter was an Alpha, and he came back in the other reality. And here, his Derek died an Alpha.

Only, no. What he’s thinking, it’s not possible. But then, Original Flavor probably thought switching universes was impossible. He scrambles through the notes - full moons, banshees, yes, but also bite lines and lore on Alphas. There’s a way to bring him back.

“What?” Scott asks.

Stiles startles; he hadn’t realized he was talking out loud. “I’m just... maybe Original Flavor was onto something here,” Stiles mutters. “I need to… can you get Lydia?”

“Okay,” Scott says, concerned. “Just, promise this isn’t another crazy universe jumping thing, okay? I can’t take you giving up.” “The opposite,” Stiles assures him. For the first time in months he actually feels like he can keep living.

*

It’s not as hard as it should have been to suss out the weird jumble of notes and connections his doppelganger left scattered around his room. Or maybe it makes sense how easy it is, considering it’s basically his own mind he’s deciphering.

The upshot of it all is a spell that’s in no book, one passed from Alpha to Alpha, only hinted at in some ancient texts as a way for smaller packs to heal themselves in the face of such loss. There’s so little clarity around it that Stiles is pretty sure he’s stupid to hope, but he can’t help it. If he and Lydia have really figured it out… if there’s really a chance…

His hands are trembling so hard he almost tears a page out of the hunter’s manual they’re borrowing from Deaton. He can feel more than see Lydia’s concerned glance. He feels a light touch on his arm and finally looks over to her.

“If this doesn’t work, Stiles, you can’t just go back to what you’ve been doing. Nobody blames you but you. Even if nothing happens, you have to keep living.” Lydia looks up at him through her lashes, all honest concern. “That’s what he’d want.”

“Okay,” he whispers, and he knows that he’ll do it, too. Either way, he’s not going to be stuck in this twilight existence after this. She’s right - it’s not what Derek would have wanted. Being with his doppelganger had reminded him of that.

The next full moon, the worm moon, he Lydia and Cora take all their preparations out to the gravesite. Scott’s already there waiting for them, but the rest of the pack isn’t. They don’t believe that it will work. To be honest, Stiles isn’t quite sure it will, either. He’s not quite sure he deserves it to.

The moon reaches its apex and light pours into the open grave, half revealing the body. From what they can see, it’s not in great shape. Stiles takes a bracing breath, and thinks to himself _OK, show time_. Nothing they read clarified if the blood needs to come from the person who killed the Alpha or the Alpha’s replacement, or if the wolfsbane the other Stiles had referenced was just to immobilize Derek or if it’s a required part of the spell. Lacking better guidelines, their general strategy when in doubt has been “yes.”

“You ready?” Stiles asks and Cora nods. They each rest an arm over the grave, within reach of Derek’s hands. Lydia takes out two small handfuls of wolfsbane and with a quick worried look blows it first into Stiles’ face, then Cora’s.

It seems like “yes” was the right option, because Derek’s hands reflexively grab onto both Cora and Stiles’ arms at the exact same time, claws drawing blood. Stiles is so startled that he barely feels it. And then Derek’s hand is warm on his arm for a split second before it drops away. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Lydia look over at Cora, but he isn’t really worried about what they think, how they’re reacting.

Stiles slides into the grave, straddling Derek to get a closer look. He’s still filthy with soil from the grave, but he’s whole, flushed with life. Stiles still has to feel the pulse under his own hands to fully comprehend that this is real, that he gets to have Derek back again. His eyes blink open and focus on Stiles; he startles weakly before realizing that there’s no danger and visibly relaxing. “Stiles, you’re alright, you’re.... The Nogitsune?” Derek croaks, his voice raspy with disuse.

“It’s gone, Der,” Stiles says, brushing Derek’s hair gently away from his eyes. “Everything’s fine now.”

“I was… I thought I was going to die.”

Stiles’ fingers rest on the spot on Derek’s cheek where the bullet had gone through - blemishless now. “It was pretty touch and go,” he admits.

“I’m in a grave,” Derek realizes, wincing as he tries to look around. “Wait, is this… Did you do something crazy for me?” he asks. His eyes are narrow and suspicious, and his eyebrows are knit together in their familiar “damn it, Stiles” scrunch.

And Stiles knows he’s grinning like an idiot, hard enough to make his cheeks ache, but he couldn’t care less.

“Well,” he starts, watery and uneven, “It’s kind of a long story, but, short version? Yeah, I totally did. But you did something crazy for me, first. You asshole.”

“Okay,” Derek sighs, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back. “Well. Going forward let’s try to keep all this to a minimum.”

“Deal,” Stiles says softly. He leans down and presses his mouth to Derek’s, reveling in the warmth and softness, the taste of him, the way that his Derek kisses back that’s right in a way he thought was lost forever. Could easily have _been_ lost, if it wasn’t for Original Flavor, come to think of it. He’s starting to think the guy is maybe kinda alright, after all. Derek puts a hand of the back of his head to deepen the kiss and in fact, Stiles is feeling so generous at that moment that he sends a small prayer out into the universe that his doppelganger has worked out his shit and is getting some Derek action too.

*

_In another universe, Derek noses into his Stiles’ shoulder and says, “Sometimes I worry about other-you. If he’s doing alright.”_

_And Original Flavor smiles to himself, thinking of the notes he’d left among the miraculous photos of him and Derek smiling and kissing that had upended his world and made him think,_ what if _. “I think he’s doing just fine,” he says._

 

**Author's Note:**

> MCD: The AU version of Derek is dead when the story starts; his death is mentioned in this chapter and will be described in the next. (reminder: I promise you happy Sterek-y endings for ALL)
> 
> Dub-con: The AU version of Stiles enters into a relationship with canon Derek without disclosing his actual identity; there is one sex scene described in this chapter, and previous sexual encounters are referenced. AU Stiles later apologizes for the deception and is forgiven, but the full weight of Derek's lack of consent is not deeply explored within the story. 
> 
> If you still have questions before you feel comfortable reading, you're more than welcome to ping me here or on tumblr! 
> 
>  
> 
> WHICH REMINDS ME: you can find me on Tumblr as [TroubleIwant](http://troubleiwant.tumblr.com/) for drabbles, Sterek reblogs, general flailing, and a disappointing amount of whining about how hard writing is.


End file.
